


Almost Ideal

by Topaz_Eyes



Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode Tag, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-24
Updated: 2009-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-02 21:37:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post-ep scene for "Honey."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Ideal

After the smoke and noise of the singles bar, Gillian's condo felt bright and peaceful when he walked on in. She shut the door against the cold night air and locked it, brushing his arm when she passed by.

Cal stood alone in the hallway for a moment, gratefully breathing in the fragrance of furniture polish and floral potpourri. As awkward as it was, it was good to be here. He needed to know she was okay. Inviting himself over was the best way to confirm that she was.

He found her sitting curled up on one end of her couch, her feet tucked beneath her, when he entered the living room. A journal lay spread open beside a half-full glass of wine on the table.

Cal kept his voice purposely light. "So--what was I interrupting?"

"Nothing. I was just catching up on reading some papers." Gillian looked down and away, hands twisting in her lap.

"Best way to fall asleep I've ever found, reading those things," Cal said. The sound of Gillian's knowing chuckle reverberated straight through him.

After a moment she looked up, her mouth upturned, shadows around her eyes. "How was the singles bar?"

He spread his hands wide. "What can you expect? A couple of drinks, a bit of chit-chat. Everyone checks each other out, hopes to hook up."

She nodded. "Did you meet anyone?"

He shrugged in reply. He knew Gillian could read that.

She didn't fail him. "And you're here because you couldn't 'hook up' with her?"

"No," he said, "I'm here because I could have."

Gillian's eyes widened. "Oh?"

He paused: too raw, too much. He quickly deflected. "Look, I meant it when I said, we'll take on whatever case you think is suitable. I promise I won't complain."

"Much."

"All right, I promise I won't complain when you're around."

"That's more like it." Gillian stifled a yawn. "Sorry, it is late, I really should--"

"I know. Don't mean to keep you up." He pointed towards the kitchen. "Can I get a glass of milk?"

"You know where it is."

Cal fled to the kitchen, knowing full well he was running away from her again, though at least it wasn't very far this time. He busied himself with fetching the jug of milk from the fridge, the glass from the cupboard beside--anything to relieve the knot in his chest that had started the minute he'd left the Honey girl at the bar.

Or, if he were completely honest with himself, the knot that had started when Gillian asked Matheson to let him go.

He splashed some milk over the side as he poured. He cursed at the slight tremor in his hand; he wiped the ring up with the dishrag hung over the sink tap. He braced himself on the edge of the counter, picked up his milk; the glass was cold, slick with condensation.

"Cal."

He looked up at her voice, regarded her over the rim; Gillian leaned on the door jamb, her arms wrapped around her middle. Her gaze was soft and open; a small, enigmatic smile played around the corners of her mouth.

"Do you have something to tell me?"

He lowered the glass; the knot in his chest tightened at the gentleness in her voice. _The real question is whether or not I'm her ideal man._ He shook his head, held her gaze. "No," he said quietly, "not yet."

She cocked her head, her eyebrow raised, but to his relief she didn't press further. After a minute she nodded, seemingly to herself, and heaved herself off the jamb.

"Good night, Cal." She turned and left the kitchen.

"G'night, love," he called after her, and drained his glass.

He remained where he was, hitched on the edge of the countertop with his head bowed, waiting for Gillian to finish in the bathroom. He listened to the flow of water through the pipes, the muffled sounds of her unfamiliar evening bedtime routine. He wouldn't mind at all if he became acquainted with it at some point. In due time.

He didn't leave the kitchen until he heard one door open and another close; walking down the hallway, he noted the crack of light under Gillian's door as he passed by. In the bathroom he leaned on the vanity, stared at himself in the mirror, the telltale bags of stress under his eyes. He doubted either of them would sleep well tonight. Looking down, he saw she'd left a few things out for him by the sink, the toothbrush still in its wrapping and an unopened tube of toothpaste, beside a small pot of unscented moisturizing cream that was definitely hers. He picked up the pot, felt its cool smoothness, the weight of it in his palm.

Her light was still on when he exited the bathroom almost half an hour later. He paused at her door, his hand already raised to knock, but he checked himself just before his knuckles reached the wood. No, it wouldn't do, he didn't have the right yet to invite himself into her sanctuary. He looked away and headed towards Gillian's spare room.

He stood in front of the neatly-made double bed, the bedroom in near-total darkness save for a hint of streetlight from behind the window drapery. He stared at the floor for a very long moment, blinking back a sudden sting behind his eyes. He then drew a huge breath, withdrew his cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open and keyed in a number.

Zoe picked up on the second ring. "It's eleven-thirty, Cal, why are you calling this late?"

He ran his hand through his hair. "Is Emily there?"

"She's asleep. I'm not going to wake her." She paused. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, sure," he forced cheerfully. "I just wanted to call--tell her I love her for me, will ya? When you see her tomorrow?"

He could see Zoe's face pinch in worry on the other end, hear the soft concern in her voice. "What's happened? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He winced at the strained pitch in his words, wrestled his voice under control. "No need to worry, had a rough day is all. Just--pass along the message?"

"Of course. Look, if you need anything--"

"Believe me, I'll let you know. 'Bye." He snapped the phone shut before Zoe could reply.

He lowered the cell with a shaking hand, tried to squash the images playing like a movie reel in his head. He knew how highly strung some of their cases got--emotion was what they dealt with, after all--but he didn't think he could bear another day like today. The press of the gun muzzle flush against his temple, the sight of Gillian at the door of the lab, her eyes wide and wet as she begged for his life.

He doubted she would refuse him if he barged into her bedroom right at this instant. They had every right, every reason, to seek solace in each other tonight. Extenuating circumstances, she'd be the first to understand--

It was exactly the thing he knew he shouldn't do. The line was there for a reason. The least he could do for her was respect it until she was ready.

Cal stripped down to T-shirt and boxers, letting his clothes drop in a heap onto the floor, and climbed into bed. He drew the bedclothes tight around him, grabbed the extra pillow and curled around it under the comforter. He detected the hint of Gillian's scent on the pillowcase; he burrowed his nose into it, breathed it in, let the sense memories slowly loosen the knot in his chest: the lingering warmth of her arms clasped firmly around him, her body solid and real in his embrace.

She was under the same roof and just one room over. That was enough for tonight.


End file.
